


I am here

by polyommatusblues



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - The Time Traveler's Wife, M/M, Time Travel, because sometimes i have ideas that form actual plots, not exactly a happy ending but happy stuff between, stephen visits past tony instead of future tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 05:43:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15017927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyommatusblues/pseuds/polyommatusblues
Summary: There’s a technical reason Stephen must surrender the Time Stone to save Tony’s life. It has to be done, and that’s enough for him to do it.But just in case, the universe decides to give him a personal reason as well.





	I am here

**Author's Note:**

> This story was born from too many amazing Ironstrange time travel fics I’ve read over the past few weeks and one of my favorite Harry Potter fics, “[Time Traveller’s Disease](https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/26963805)” by MissandMarauder. (I think one line of dialogue I straight-up lifted from that fic—I’d tell ya, but it’s a little bit of a spoiler!) If you're at all into the very obscure Harry Potter ships of Remus Lupin and Hermione Granger, read it right now.
> 
> We’re conveniently leaving out the Pepper romance thing for the first 10 years or so. I love Pepper, but she’s a plot blocker I don’t really want to explain right now. And if there are any inconsistencies in Tony’s history, oops. I tried to find out as much as I could, but some details I had to make up.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!

“This time I know Henry will come, eventually. I sometimes wonder if this readiness, this expectation, prevents the miracle from happening. But I have no choice. He is coming, and I am here.”

—Audrey Niffeneger, _The Time Traveler’s Wife_

 

 

——

 

 

After viewing every possible outcome, Stephen is back on Titan for exactly thirty seconds before he locks eyes with Tony and feels something shift.

The world around him spins, darkens, and finally falls away.

 

 

Before Stephen knows it, he’s settled. As the vertigo slowly fades, he realizes that this transition was different than any other mystical travel he’d ever experienced. It didn’t have the alertness and panic of traveling through dimensions, and it didn’t have the intention of traveling through time. At least, not the way he’d been traveling through time.

When he opens his eyes, he’s standing in the middle of a living room, floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the wall showing a brilliant New York skyline. It takes him a little while to realize where he is exactly, but then he takes another look at the skyline and one piece clicks in his brain.

He’s seen this view before, fourteen million times. The furniture is all wrong, but he’s sure of the location. Almost every timeline had put him in Avengers Tower at some point, whether it was immediately after Thanos or some years down the line.

(Surprisingly, sometimes he lived in the tower. Not as an Avenger, but with Tony. Those timelines were his favorites, even if they didn’t save everyone.)

Stephen spends a few minutes just standing there, trying to figure out what the hell he did wrong. He’s guessing this place isn’t called Avengers Tower yet. Unlike viewing the future, this time he doesn’t have his cloak. This isn’t another timeline; that much he knows.

Stephen turns around when he hears Tony enter the kitchen, not yet noticing him in the living room. Soon, while he’s filling a cup with water from a filter pitcher, Tony looks up at Stephen and drops the cup entirely. It would be comedic if Stephen wasn’t so goddamn confused.

“You’re here,” Tony says breathlessly, and Stephen stays silent. “I thought maybe you’d left for good.”

Tony walks into the living room gently, as if approaching a wild animal. It looks almost like he’s—restraining himself? Stephen swears he sees Tony reach out, but he pulls back immediately. He keeps looking at Stephen like he’s going to disappear, and Stephen wonders if this is because maybe he has disappeared before. Maybe he has disappeared many times before.

The closer Tony gets, the more differences Stephen sees in him. He looks younger: ten years at least.

“I’m not sure…” Stephen starts, but he doesn’t know how to finish the sentence.

Tony smiles hesitantly. “Okay, Marty McFly. You told me a few years ago when your first appearance was gonna be, and I told you I’d be prepared.”

 _Okay,_ Stephen thinks. _This is good._ At least someone can explain what the hell is going on.

Tony motions, and he and Stephen take opposite ends of the couch. Idly, Stephen wonders how much water Tony spilled on the kitchen floor and whether or not it’s going to affect the wood.

“I guess you have some idea of what’s happening,” Tony says. Stephen doesn’t, really, but he says nothing. “Right now, you are embarking upon the ride of your life—which sounds like a bad rollercoaster intercom message, but I think you’ll find it fitting.”

Right then Tony puts his feet up on the coffee table and Stephen notices he’s not wearing shoes or socks. It’s strangely vulnerable, and he wonders if the other Tony also walks around his apartment barefoot.

“For some reason, you’ve been stuck to me like old bubblegum gum for the past 25 years, give or take. You show up sometimes, never for very long, and then you’re completely absent until you show up again. You’re always wearing that awful getup, and you’re always a little sad.”

Stephen cuts in. “It’s always you?”

“As far as I know. You’ve never said anything about jack-in-the-boxing in and out of anyone else’s life.”

“How many times have you seen me?” Tony smiles, kind of sadly.

“Enough. I should probably let you figure that out, though.”

“Do you know why this is happening?”

Tony shakes his head. Stephen wasn’t really expecting an answer to that, but somehow he has to figure out the bigger picture. There’s more here than just him lost in time, tied inexplicably and unavoidably to Tony Stark.

The thing is, Stephen has a strange, certain feeling that this has nothing to do with the time stone. It’s still around his neck, but he hasn’t felt its powers activate since he used it to view the alternate timelines on Titan. If it’s not the stone manipulating time, what is?

“Do you live here?” Stephen asks. Tony laughs.

“God, no. I’m doing business here this week, but I live in Malibu. Funny enough, you’ve only visited me there once.” Tony suddenly gets very serious. Absently, he adds, “I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”

Stephen shrugs. His hunch was right: This isn’t Avengers Tower. Not yet, at least.

Stephen and Tony sit in silence, Tony staring at his hands and Stephen out the windows. “What year are we in?” he asks. Tony purses his lips.

“It’s 2007.” That year means nothing to Stephen. 2007 was before the accident, and looking back, he can barely remember anything from that time. All he knows is that his 2007 self is probably at Metro-General, so maybe Stephen 2.0 should stay away from there lest there be two of himself walking around.

Tony’s still looking at Stephen, and it doesn’t make him as uncomfortable as it would in 2018. Maybe that’s because the Tony in 2018 doesn't know him and this Tony does, even if Stephen can’t yet say the same.

Another thought occurs to Stephen. “How long am I usually around for?”

Tony smiles knowingly, and Stephen wonders just how much time the two of them have spent together by this time in Tony’s life, and why the Tony he met right before Thanos never seemed to recognize Stephen at all.

“It varies. Jesus,” he laughs, “it varies so much. One time I saw you for maybe twenty minutes, then poof. Other times you’ve stayed… longer. It’s always a toss up.”

“And how long between?”

Tony doesn’t laugh this time. “Same thing. Sometimes just a day,”—he almost whispers the next part—“sometimes two years.”

That must be horrible for Tony, never knowing when he was going to show up—and then, never knowing for how long. And always between: a waiting game.

“There are so many things you don’t know yet,” Tony whispers, and Stephen almost shudders at the tenderness in his voice.

All of a sudden Tony’s cocky mask returns, and Stephen knows that’s all the emotion he’s going to get out of him for a while.

“Hungry, doc?” As if on cue, Stephen feels a pang in his stomach. When was the last time he ate, anyway? How long had they been hunting down Thanos? It’s not like Stephen had been in one linear time period. However much time had passed in his world and however much time his body had lived through were two incredibly different things.

Stephen follows Tony into the adjourning kitchen, taking a seat at a cafe table. Tony disappears into the pantry, and Stephen hears rustling around as he looks for food. Stephen remembers this from one future timeline when he ended up in Avengers Tower—Tony casually cooking for himself and others. As cocky as the papers have always made him out to be, perhaps there’s been a little hidden humility in him for a long time, and it doesn’t start with Thanos.

“How do you feel about turkey sandwiches?” he hears before Tony emerges from the pantry and throws some condiments and a loaf of bread on the countertop. He turns to the refrigerator and starts rummaging around there. “Stupid question, you love them. No tomato though, weirdo.”

Stephen laughs, full and deep, because this whole situation is just fucking unbelievable. It’s 2008, he’s watching celebrity billionaire Tony Stark spread mayonnaise on a slice of Whitewheat bread, and apparently they know each other well enough that Tony remembers something as minute a detail as how Stephen takes his turkey sandwiches.

“Thank you,” Stephen says, and Tony lights up like a Christmas tree. Stephen thinks it might be at the sound of his laugh.

They take lunch in front of the TV watching episode after episode of _Sabrina the Teenage Witch_. Tony immediately got J.A.R.V.I.S.—the precursor to F.R.I.D.A.Y., apparently—to buy all seven seasons and queue them up one by one.

“Who knows how long we’ll have, right? Gotta be prepared,” Tony had said to him with a wink. They settled in on the couch and a robot brought them popcorn, which became their dinner. If Tony sat a little too close, it’s just Stephen’s imagination.

They’re on episode 11 when Stephen starts to feel a strange pulling sensation, like people tugging at his clothes from all sides. He closes his eyes tight and sucks in a breath as the pull gets stronger. It doesn’t hurt necessarily, but it definitely feels like his body is stretching in ways it shouldn’t.

“Tony…” he says, and Tony reaches across the couch, covering Stephen’s hand with his own.

“First time’s the hardest,” he says, and Stephen closes his eyes tight. Before he knows it, all feeling ceases and he is alone.

 

 

When Stephen comes to, his first thought is that he for damn sure hopes Tony was right, and the first time is the hardest. He’s so much dizzier than he was going from Titan to 2007, and he’s pretty sure that if he moves right now he’s going to lose that turkey sandwich.

Once the ground stops feeling like it’s spinning, Stephen opens his eyes. He’s in some kind of dorm room, complete with an old-fashioned wooden dresser and desk and bed, currently holding a slack-jawed boy.

“Well that’s one way to break in somewhere. Security here is so strict, even I’ve never been able to sneak out.” Stephen realizes with a jolt that this is preteen Tony Stark, and the furniture isn’t _actually_ old-fashioned; it’s contemporary. He must be in… 1983? 1984?

“I’ve never asked but can you do that like, in a bank?” Tony asks.

Stephen ignores him. “Where am I?”

Tony places the book in his hands face-down on the nightstand and sits up in the bed. He’s already under the covers, reading before going to sleep. “Claybrook Academy, New York’s finest all-American petri dish of testosterone and old money,” Tony says with a heavy sigh.

“So boarding school?”

“So boarding school. All boys, so everyone’s a little higher on the Kinsey scale than you’d think.” Tony quirks an eyebrow at him. For a fraction of a second, Stephen thinks there may have been a wink involved. “Random side note. But we should probably get back to the matter at hand: What are you doing here?”

For a minute, Stephen has to backtrack. “Do you know me?” he asks.

Tony sighs again. “You’re Doctor Stephen Strange, time-traveler extraordinaire and occasional pain in my ass,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, we’ve met.”

“What year is it?”

“1985. Yours truly turns fifteen next week and graduates from high school the week after.”

Stephen lets out a heavy breath, impressed both at the statement and the fact that apparently Tony was just as snarky at 14 as he is at 48. “Happy early birthday, then. If we’ve met before, then you know that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing here.”

“See, this is what I mean about being a pain in the ass.” Stephen laughs. Just like it will in 2007, it makes Tony smile. “Take the chair, doc,” Tony says, motioning to desk. “Unless you’ve got something better to do, grab a book from the shelf, because I wanna get through at least the next 50 pages before I go to sleep.”

Tony picks his own book up off the nightstand, and Stephen gets a look at the cover. He’s reading _Gravity’s Rainbow_. Stephen smiles.

“That was one of my favorite books growing up,” Stephen tells him, eyes scanning the bookshelf beside Tony’s bed. He spots a copy of _Goodbye Columbus_ and reaches for it. Stephen’s read it before, but he thinks maybe it’s short enough that he’ll be able to finish it before he has to go.

Tony tucks his chin down, almost shy. “Yeah, I know,” he says softly.

Before Stephen can take the novel off the shelf, Tony shoots up straight and closes his book with a _slap_.

“Play Scrabble with me,” he says, unsurprisingly domineering, even as a teen.

Stephen laughs. “Seriously? What happened to reading?”

“Come on,” he whines. “I never get to play!”

“Don’t you have a common area or something where everybody congregates? Get one of your classmates to play with you.” At that Stephen sees Tony’s face fall, just slightly, and he realizes his mistake almost immediately.

 _Shit. Shit, shit, shit._ Stephen was in this place once; Stephen knows this. Tony’s supposed to be starting ninth grade but instead, he’s about to start college. Of course he doesn’t want to play with the other kids—he’d clobber them, and that’s only if they’ll have anything to do with him. Growing up, Stephen was ostracized by the other kids, and he has a hunch that Tony’s the same.

Before Tony can come up with a reply, Stephen rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and crosses his arms. He’ll have to play it carefully, but if he can meet Tony snark for snark, Stephen thinks he can get him to forget the comment.

“Okay, fine. If you’re asking for me to beat your ass, game on.” Tony’s face brightens instantly. He stands up on the bed, reaching for the box on top of the bookshelf.

Stephen pulls up the desk chair to the side of Tony’s bed while Tony sets up the board. He sits criss-crossed on the opposite side of the bed, laying out the pieces on the bed between them.

Halfway through the game, Tony is a good sixty points ahead. Stephen’s more impressed than embarrassed, and for the first time he lets himself imagine a future in which he makes it back to his actual time period and can laugh with Tony about how Stephen got his ass handed to him by a fourteen year-old.

Tony places a single letter in the bottom right corner space. He looks positively triumphant. “Q-I!” Tony says, standing straight up in the bed. “AND on a triple word space! Beat that, wizard man!”

Stephen can’t help but break out in a smile, Tony’s joyousness practically palpable. “Guess we have to end the game there, huh? No way I can catch up with…” Stephen knows the math, but he may as well give Tony another opportunity to brag.

“Thirty-three points!” Tony says, flopping back down onto the bed. He pretzels his legs underneath him and puts his face right up next to Stephen’s. “You know what that means…” He pulls his face back. “I WIN!”

Stephen flicks Tony in the forehead. “Not yet, you don’t,” he says. Tony rolls his eyes. “There’s still a handful of letters left in the bag.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Bring it on, old man.”

With a laugh, Stephen holds the letter bag out to Tony. No sooner than Tony reaches in and draws a square does Stephen feel the pull again. He gasps—the discomfort isn’t as bad, maybe because he was expecting it. But still… Sure, he was expecting it, but not this soon.

Having gone still, Stephen looks up at Tony, who nods knowingly. Stephen hopes Tony doesn’t always sober like this when Stephen starts fading. It doesn’t feel haughty to think that Tony seems happier when Stephen is around.

“Rematch next time,” Stephen says, attempting a smile and hoping it doesn’t come out as a grimace. Whatever his face must be doing, Tony mirrors it.

“For sure, doc.”

 

 

This time, Stephen appears in the middle of the night.

He shows up in a guest bedroom, he guesses at the tower. A quick look at the electronic clock tells him it’s December 3, 2012.

As much as he wants to see Tony, Stephen knows this is a bad time for him. Even if he and Tony from some other future time hadn’t talked about it, Stephen remembers the Battle of New York. Right now Tony needs all the rest he can get, and honestly, so does Stephen.

Besides, the bed is beckoning to him. If he doesn’t immediately go to Tony now, it’ll be fine. Tony’s aware that Stephen sometimes randomly pops in and out of his life, and if anyone else comes in the bedroom while Stephen’s there and has questions… Stephen thinks he’ll take the chance.

God, he needs sleep. He’s still living on a linear timeline, just one that happens to weave in and out of Tony’s in an apparently non-linear way. As far as he’s concerned, Stephen was on Titan with a middle-aged Tony Stark not even two days ago. But before then, he hadn’t slept in—how long?

Time in the present, time in the past: That’s not even including the time he spent in the future. He lived fourteen million lives in the span of a few minutes, searching for a future that doesn’t end with half of Earth’s population dead.

(Right now, he can’t begin to parse the things he saw. He can’t even try.)

Grabbing a blanket from the closet, Stephen leaves on his shoes and stretches out on top of the comforter. There’s a brief moment in which Stephen worries about the universe abruptly pulling him from this period while he’s still asleep, but he can’t really be bothered enough to care. Sighing in defeat, he closes his eyes and lets sleep reel him in.

Some time later, Stephen is jolted awake by a cry. Immediately, he bolts out of the guest bedroom and heads towards the master. Jesus, he was afraid of this. Stephen knows a thing or two about nightmares, and he knows a thing or two about PTSD. He figures Tony knows two or three things.

When he gets in the bedroom, Stephen sees Tony lying on his back in the middle of the bed, body completely still. He almost could be experiencing paralysis except for his arms swinging up and down and his legs kicking the mattress. Stephen keeps a little distance, sitting on the foot of the bed instead of at Tony’s side. He was a doctor; he knows how jarring coming out of a nightmare like that can be. “Tony, it’s okay,” he says. “You’re safe.”

Tony cries for Pepper and Rhodey and a few other people Stephen’s heard him mention in passing, but then—for him. Something inside Stephen breaks when Tony says his name so pleading, so terrified. He moves up the bed until he can grab one of his hands to still its movement, linking their fingers gently so Tony knows that he’s not touching him with the intent to hurt.

“Stephen—” Tony says, still not awake. “Please, don’t go.”

There are so many things Stephen still doesn’t know, what they truly are to each other being only one.

“Tony, you’re safe,” he says with a little more force. Stephen squeezes the hand he’s holding and reaches for his other. “Listen to my voice. I’m safe.”

Slowly, Tony stops kicking, slowly coming out of his nightmare. Stephen sends a silent prayer to who-or-whatever has been crossing their paths that the terror is over for Tony, at least for tonight.

“Stephen?” Tony’s voice is softer now, eyes focusing on him when he blinks awake. “You’re—what?”

“Just in the neighborhood.” Stephen smiles down at him as best he can. “You were having a nightmare,” he whispers, afraid to break the new quietness of the room.

Tony pulls at his hands. “Stephen,” he says, as if the only word he wants to speak is his name. “Don’t go.” Stephen doesn’t know if Tony means don’t leave the bed or don’t leave at all. “Please.” Stephen can make no weighty promises—he still doesn’t have a feel for what’s really going on with him—but he can at least offer Tony something.

Slowly, Stephen toes off his shoes and climbs into the bed beside Tony. Without anxiety tensing up the air around them, it’s rather cold, so he slips under the comforter, between the sheets. Shaking a little less, Tony rolls towards him, pulling Stephen’s arms, their hands still locked, around himself. Tony scoots closer and buries his face in Stephen’s chest, and Stephen thinks he’s never seen a person so vulnerable. “Please,” Tony says into his undershirt, brokenly.

Stephen breathes, “Of course,” and gathers Tony into his arms.

After a few minutes, Tony’s breathing levels out, his body going slack in Stephen’s arms. Stephen considers the notion that for Tony, this is not the first time they’ve lain like this, curled together for comfort or warmth or company. He seemed to move with him instinctively, like they had slept in this same position a hundred other nights.

How many times has Stephen come to Tony by this time? How much of their history has Stephen not yet lived?

Before long, he finds himself too drifting off. When Stephen wakes up, Tony is already awake, his face mere inches away, watching him sleep. When he opens his eyes, Tony sucks in a breath and pulls back sharply. He makes a face like a deer in headlights.

“Morning breath—gross, right?” he says before fleeing to the bathroom. Stephen waits a moment, exhales, and gets out of bed. He grabs a pair of Tony’s boxers (not like he’ll miss them) and heads for the guest bathroom, praying the universe doesn’t yank him out of this time period while he’s in the shower.

Tony is already in the kitchen frying eggs on the stove when Stephen emerges.

“You put on the same stale clothes there, doc?” Tony asks, gesturing to the robes Stephen’s been wearing since he woke up however many mornings ago in his own timeline, totally unaware that by noon, the Hulk was going to smash through the Sanctum roof and redefine his life.

Stephen snorts. “I’m a little scared to do anything else. Can’t really show up back in my own timeline in your old AC/DC shirt.”

Tony grins, looking down. “If everyone’s used to you looking like that, then yeah, wherever you are, that might cause a scene,” he says.

Tony takes a cup from under his ridiculously expensive-looking espresso machine, pours a little creamer in, and hands it to Stephen before turning back to the machine for a cup of his own. He takes the pan off the burner and scoops the eggs onto a large plate.

Stephen wonders how many times he and Tony have shared meals for Tony to know how he likes his sandwiches, his eggs, his coffee.

“Thank you,” Stephen says, and he thinks that if he’s doomed to live the rest of his days with this time-traveling disease, he could be following around someone much worse.

Stephen stays for almost 20 hours this time. Being with Tony is surprisingly easy, and no matter how well Tony knows him at this point, Stephen can tell he’s trying not to overstep.

Later in the day as Tony tinkers, Stephen sits on a bench in Tony’s workshop watching him, contemplating the night before.

It should have been odd for Stephen to wrap himself around Tony as if it were natural, some familiar, everyday action. But it felt instinctive—it felt _right_ —and something he didn’t ever want to live without.

It’s a frightening thought, that Stephen could feel this way about an unstable, ever-changing presence in his life. If Tony told Stephen that he’d shown up _enough_ , Stephen must not be scratching the surface of their time together.

Against his better judgment, Stephen thinks that maybe there’s a larger reason he keeps coming back to Tony, dropped in and out of time, with no warning at all.

 

 

Through the years, Stephen visits New York again and again. He thought maybe he was tied there, like he’s tied to Tony. But this time he opens his eyes and instead of concrete, sees nothing but trees—more trees than you can find anywhere in the City. He’s never seen so much green in his life, he doesn’t think. When the rest of his senses come online, he can feel the muggy warmth of the air, smell honeysuckle, hear crickets chirp.

Even upstate, nature doesn’t have this all-consuming force over the landscape ( _or this humidity_ , his already-sweaty body reminds him). Dear Lord, he’s in the South.

Looking around, he sees a small boy ambling aimlessly through the wood. There’s a navy book bag on his back with the initials “A.E.S.” embroidered in white.

All of a sudden, the boy whips around. He’s holding a mason jar in his hands, holes punched in the lid. The raw innocence of it all almost brings Stephen to his knees.

“Who are you?” he asks, not accusingly.

Stephen blinks at him a couple times, trying to figure out the right words. Tony can’t be more than six or seven at this point, and Stephen also has no idea where the hell he is. Is this the first time he has come to Tony, or was Tony so young that he couldn’t remember?

“I’m Stephen.”

“Where did you come from?” Tony tilts his head at Stephen like a confused puppy. It makes Stephen smile.

“You’re Tony, right?”

“How did you know that?”

“This is going to sound very strange”—for half a second, Stephen aches painfully for the version of Tony that would snicker then—“but I’m from the future. We’re friends.”

Tony’s eyes grow huge, smiling wide. “They have _time travel_ in the future?” Stephen nods. “Did I make it?!”

Stephen laughs. _Of course_ Tony Stark’s first thought when he’s told about the existence of time travel is that _he_ invented it.

(To be fair, if it was possible to transcend timelines using science, Tony Stark would be the one to figure it out.)

“I guess you’ll have to see for yourself.”

Stephen’s non-answer does nothing to dull Tony’s giddiness. “Neat! But why do you get to go back in time?” Ah, the question no one seems to have an answer for, no matter when.

“That’s also something you’ll have to find out,” Stephen says. Silently he adds, _Good luck_.

Tony rolls his eyes with all the exasperation of an impatient grown-up. Stephen doesn’t know what Tony’s whole childhood was like, but when ( _when_ ) he gets back to his own time period, he’d like to maybe find out.

It’s not dark yet, but definitely nearing dusk. Stephen can see a pink-tinted sky above the treetops. He looks around to see if he can find any clues as to where they are. Meanwhile, Tony spreads out a blanket, grabs a book from his backpack, and sits down. He reclines on the blanket, using his backpack as a headrest.

As usual, Stephen’s search for answers comes up empty. “Tony, where are we?” Stephen asks.

Tony cracks open the book to a dog-eared page about a quarter of the way in and rests it on his stomach. Stephen sees _King Arthur: Tales of the Round Table_ along with an intricate illustration on the cover. He’s getting to know so much about Tony like this, and bits like this are memories he thinks he’ll never be able to forget.

“Mayodan, North Carolina,” he says, not looking up from his book.

 _What the hell kind of a town is called Mayodan?_ Stephen thinks, but he keeps it to himself. “Why are we here?”

“Mom and Dad had to go out of town and I wanted to stay with Nana and Grandpa,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. It dawns on Stephen then: Even as a child, seeing Tony out of New York is a surreal experience—and considering his current position in life, that’s saying something.

More so it’s endearing to see Tony like this. Before he can stop himself, Stephen imagines Tony having a son like this, one whose father could be in these woods reading beside him.

For now, Stephen stretches out on the other end of the blanket and stares up at the trees.

Tony reads until the sun starts hanging lower and they lose most of their light. Lightning bugs are twinkling all around them. Tony closes his book and sits up, smiling, his eyes following various lightning bugs. He puts it in his backpack and grabs the main jar, unscrewing the top.

Stephen can see why Tony gets so attached to his A.I. systems, if he can be this content cupping lightning bugs in his hands and gathering them up. There’s a tenderness Stephen sees here that Tony must never lose through the years.

By the time Stephen deems it too dark to stay outside, the mason jar is filled with tiny yellow lights. Tony grabs his backpack and starts heading home. Stephen knows he can’t go beyond the trees, but he’ll walk with Tony now. No matter how long he is to stay in this time period, he cannot be seen.

“Grandpa told me you can take the butt off fireflies and stick it places, but then Nana hit his head and said not to,” Tony says, turning the jar around to see all the little bugs. Stephen steers him around a tree as he ambles along distractedly.

“She’s right. You shouldn’t hurt something that’s not trying to hurt you.”

Tony looks up at him and narrows his eyes. “That sounds like good advice, Mr. Stephen. Are you a soldier?”

The question confuses him before Stephen realizes that Tony grew up with stories of Captain America and his bravery. Though he never put much stock in them, Stephen did too.

“No, I’m actually a doctor,” Stephen says.

“So you save people?”

If he wasn’t sure before, Stephen decides that he likes six-or-seven year-old Tony.

“Yes. I try.”

They make it to the edge of the woods where the yard start. There’s a big white house with all its lights on about ten yards away and a swing-set near the back deck.

Stephen places a hand on Tony’s head, ruffling his hair. “You better go in now,” he says. “I bet your Nana has dinner on.” Tony frowns.

“Do you not wanna come?”

“I wish I could.”

Stephen crouches down to Tony’s level and grabs the mason jar from his hands. “Ready to let these go?”

Tony smiles. “Yeah,” he says, and Stephen twists off the lid. The lightning bugs crawl out and scatter, and Tony tries to lightly touch each one as they fly away.

When the jar is empty, Stephen screws the lid back on and zips it in the backpack.

“Goodbye, Tony,” he says, and gently urges Tony towards the house.

“Bye, Mr. Stephen.”

Tony begins walking, turning around only once to wave. When he starts up the back stairs, Stephen immediately feels the pull.

 

 

Suddenly Stephen finds himself outside a restaurant, the hustle and bustle of Manhattan all around him for the first time in a long time. Every time the universe has deposited him somewhere relatively secluded, so how no one was startled by a random man in robes showing up in the middle of the street, Stephen has no idea.

The restaurant is small and not very crowded, and Stephen immediately spots Tony sitting at a table alone, a huge wrap in his hands. There’s a man dressed in black standing at the door, which is probably why everyone in the restaurant seems content to leave Tony alone.

Trying not to look suspicious, Stephen walks in. A bell dings when he opens the door.

Stephen keeps his eyes on Tony as he makes his way to the man’s table, willing him to look up. When Tony finally does, he breaks out into a huge smile.

“Hey, you,” Tony says, standing up to pull Stephen into a hug. Neither want to make a scene, so Stephen simply sits down across from Tony and steals the other half of his wrap from the plate.

Tony swats at Stephen’s hand, but he slides his plate over for him. It’s been a while since he’s eaten, Stephen realizes, because whatever this is tastes as good as any 5-star restaurant he’d frequented before the accident.

“Where did you show up?” Tony asks. Stephen chews and sets the wrap down.

“Right outside, actually. Saw you through the glass. What is this, by the way?”

Tony smiles as Stephen takes another bite. “It’s called shawarma. No idea what’s in it. But good, right?”

“Mmm, so good.”

“I can’t believe I’ve never brought you here before. I come pretty regularly, at least regularly enough for the kitchen staff to know my name.”

Stephen laughs. “Tony, everybody knows your name.”

“Oh hush,” Tony says. “Eat your shawarma.”

Tony keeps staring at him, like he’s drinking Stephen in. There’s a certain relief in Tony’s eyes that Stephen noticed from the moment Tony saw him, a look he hasn’t really shown before when Stephen would appear.

“It’s just… it’s really good to see you, Stephen. It’s been a little while.”

Stephen frowns. “How long is a little while?”

“It’s September 10, 2001 right now, and the last time was August 25, 2000.”

An entire year. Damn.

Stephen can’t think about what’s going to happen tomorrow. Tony doesn’t know; Tony _can’t_ know. There’s nothing Tony can do about it at this point in time, and he survives. Painfully, Stephen puts it out of his mind.

Instead, he focuses on what Tony does know: This is his first time seeing Stephen in a year. Stephen hasn’t been keeping track of the time between his visits (but apparently Tony has, down to the day), mainly because hopping around Tony’s timeline is scrambling his brain enough as it is.

Even though Tony told him the first time that the length of time between Stephen’s visits varied, Stephen kind of always assumed that he’d already met Tony enough times that there would never be that long a period.

“Shit,” Stephen says.

“Yeah. Shit.”

He finishes eating, and Tony takes the plate and napkins and throws them away. A thought occurs to Stephen.

“Tony,” he says seriously. “Where exactly are we?”

Tony turns back to him and sits down. “Hell’s Kitchen, a few blocks under the Park. Why, do you wanna go illegally feed some birds?”

Stephen’s blood runs cold. “Metro-General is blocks away from here,” he says. Tony’s eyes widen, understanding.

“You’re afraid of running into someone you know.”

“Terrified, actually. Or myself.”

Tony stands up, clapping his hands once. “Okay, the tower isn’t far from here, which is probably the best place to be, right? You never really like being in public, not that we’ve been in public a lot or anything, but.”

“Yeah, for this reason,” Stephen mutters, and he and Tony make for the door. As suspected, the man waiting outside is Tony’s bodyguard, and the man hops in the back of a sleek black sports car parked right out front. Stephen gets a sharp and bitter flashback, but he shakes it off and takes the passenger seat.

Tony slides behind the wheel and pulls out, cars honking behind him. “Happy, meet Stephen. Stephen, Happy.”

“Hello,” Stephen says, and Happy grunts, not unkindly.

“You a friend of Tony’s?” he asks, and Stephen shoots Tony an amused look.

Stephen hums. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Happy brightens. “Oh-ho, Tony, is this the—”

Right at that moment, Tony starts coughing violently. “Okay, Haps, let’s—” He breaks off. Stephen raises his eyebrows, but Tony won’t look at him.

“Alright… but Tony, we’re having a little conversation later.”

Tony heaves a sigh, but he’s blushing hard.

When they get back to the tower, Happy leaves to go home and Tony and Stephen take the elevator up to the penthouse.

“So Happy thinks we’re fucking…” Stephen says, as soon as the elevator doors close.

Tension radiates off Tony. “Guess he does,” he says.

The elevator dings at every floor; they both know it’s a long and uncomfortable ride up totally silent.

“Who does Happy think I am, exactly?” Stephen asks. Tony is still. He doesn’t speak until the elevator lands on the penthouse floor and opens again. They get off the elevator, but neither makes a move to get past the foyer. “Some kind of secret lover?”

“He just—” Tony fumbles. It’s one of very few times Stephen has seen him at a loss for words.

“It’s pretty obvious that’s what he thought,” Stephen says, growing impatient at Tony’s awkwardness. He pauses, dread filling his stomach. “Dear God, _do you_ have a secret lover?”

Tony closes his eyes tightly, a bitter smile spreading over his face. Jealously flares up in Stephen, but he shoves it down.

“Do I have—Jesus, Stephen!” Tony says, suddenly angry, sounding close to tears. “I just don’t know what the fuck you know and what the fuck I’ve lived through that you haven’t yet, okay?”

“What?” Stephen asks. He’s a smart man, but understanding people is much different than understanding concepts.

Tony walks up close to him, outstretching his arms as if to say, _Everything, Stephen. Everything_.

“You. Me. You just bibbidi-bobbidi-boo in and out of my life to the point where I don't  _remember_ a time I wasn’t waiting for you to just appear out of nowhere.” At this point, Tony just sounds exasperated. “I’m so confused all the time, because I don’t want to say something that happened in 19-fucking-89 or 1995 or _whatever_ that you don’t know about yet. Only _parts_ of my past are your past.”

Stephen feels smaller than a mouse running through the Sanctum. He’s carried a lifetime of near villainous hubris, and all that it took to undo it is one man. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Tony deflates. “I’m sick of guessing all the time,” he says. “I don’t know what’ll fuck up the timeline, but I have to do this. If you can’t forgive me, then—okay.” Tony grabs Stephen’s hands and pushes the man back against the wall, tilting his face up. And maybe Stephen saw this coming, because his face is already tilting down.

Maybe he saw it coming the very first time he showed up in Tony’s Manhattan high-rise and they ate sandwiches and watched bad TV, sitting a little too close to be acquaintances. God, Tony had known about this even then. Tony had known about a lot then.

Stephen thinks about all the missed times that they could have had this, all the times Tony had to hold back. Stephen realizes that he was holding back too, in a different way.

He’d seen fourteen million outcomes for life after Thanos, and Stephen knows he’s going to fall in love with Tony Stark in almost every future. That’s okay, he thinks, that makes sense now, because he’d fallen in love with Tony Stark the very first moment Stephen was shot back to so many different pasts.

Tony’s kiss borders on bruising, his arms caging Stephen to the wall, but Stephen kisses him back just as fiercely. It’s like water in the desert, kissing Tony. It’s like every cliché in the book.

Before too long, Tony pulls away and looks at Stephen. Tony’s lips are swollen and pink, and Stephen thinks that although he loves every moment he spends with Tony, this might be his favorite.

Tony grabs Stephen’s hand and pulls him towards the hallway. “Okay?” he asks, and Stephen nods.

“Lead the way.”

When they get to Tony’s bedroom, Tony pushes Stephen back on the bed and climbs on top of him immediately. Tony sighs, his lips on Stephen’s neck.

“Please,” Stephen says, so Tony sucks a mark there. Tony kisses along Stephen’s jaw and takes his earlobe between his teeth. Stephen breathes into his ear and they both shiver. Stephen arches his back, grinding up against Tony.

Tony reaches to pull up the hem of Stephen’s shirt, but Stephen halts him.

“What if I have to leave in the middle of this?”

He says it seriously, but Tony breaks out into a genuine laugh. Stephen can’t help but join him.

“At this point, doc, do you really care?” Tony says, teasingly licking behind Stephen’s ear. Shuddering, Stephen reaches for his shirt and finishes the job, quickly following with Tony’s.

“Does that answer your question?” he asks breathily. Tony settles on top of him, grinning into his neck.

Beyond that, they don’t talk about Stephen’s inevitable disappearance until Stephen speaks again. “I need to know when it happens,” Stephen whispers against Tony’s mouth. “When it first happens. Tell me when I am allowed this with you.”

Tony lifts up on his arms just enough to look him in the eyes. “This whole time travel thing is really fucking you up, huh?” Stephen doesn’t say anything, just looks up at Tony, his gaze heavy.

Tony presses his forehead to Stephen’s. “May 29, 1992. My first birthday after my parents were killed.”

“Shit, Tony,” Stephen says, lifting his head up to kiss each of Tony’s eyelids.

“We didn’t do anything then,” Tony says. “I was in a fucked up place, and you just kind of—it was nice.” Tony huffs out a laugh. “You’ll see.”

If there’s anything more Tony wants to say about that, he doesn’t.

They kiss and kiss, hands exploring, losing themselves in each other. Then Stephen puts his hands on Tony’s shoulders, holding him up. He takes in Tony’s amber eyes, his shaggy hair, the shallow cleft in his chin. The scar on his hairline from when he was 13 at Claybrook and knocked it on the corner of his desk. Stephen was there, when that happened. Tony had yelped and landed in a heap, and the cut looked bad because head wounds always look bad, but Stephen had washed it and put a band-aid on it and ached to kiss it but couldn’t, not then.

“Like the view, Spock?” Tony says now, smirking. Stephen drops his hands, letting Tony fall on top of him into a kiss.

“Call me that again and I'm leaving.” Tony laughs, smiling into every press of their lips.

The truth is, Stephen doesn’t know when he’ll be transported back to his own timeline, back to Titan, where they live such different lives. If this is the last time he gets to see Tony Stark above him, he wants to remember it. If this is the last time he gets to see Tony Stark happy, he wants to remember it.

A while later, anxiety wins and Stephen puts his shirt back on. Tony keeps a hand underneath it, pressed to Stephen’s chest. It’s their compromise, and Stephen is more than satisfied.

They spend the next five hours in bed, eating cheap Chinese takeout ordered by J.A.R.V.I.S. and recollecting the time they’ve had together. Stephen brings up moments, and Tony tells him what happened when he left.

(He thinks Tony might be leaving out the sadness, the aloneness, that he feels when Stephen leaves. Stephen would know, because he feels that way too. Tony is wonderful no matter when Stephen sees him, but for a little while in every new time period, he always misses the one right before.

However, even though he cherishes each and every time he comes to Tony, this may be the first time Stephen feels truly and deeply content.)

Now, when Tony randomly starts kissing his way down Stephen’s chest, Stephen thinks about how lucky a man he is to have been given this opportunity. It’s going to break his heart to return to his own timeline and pretend he wouldn’t give up his life for Tony, but it will all be worth it.

He repeats that like a mantra. It will be worth it. It will be worth it.

 

 

Stephen careens through the years, and each time he visits after 1992 the first thing he does is find Tony and wrap him in his arms. Each time, Tony melts into him.

“You were here yesterday,” Tony says once 2014, laughing against Stephen’s lips. “What a lucky man I am.”

( _We both are_ , Stephen thinks.)

One time in 2005 he stays for almost four full days. As long as Stephen is there, Tony cancels all his meetings and the two of them hole up in the Tower. They cook, watch bad action films, play Scrabble, and try not to spend too much time in bed. Against all better judgement—he knows that his leaving is vital to keeping some order in the universe—Stephen thinks maybe he can have this for a little while. Maybe they can have this.

They don’t, obviously. The pull comes during lunch on the fourth day, and the last thing he feels is Tony laughing against his lips, licking a crumb from the corner of his mouth. “Clean up a bit before I see you again, yeah?” And Stephen is gone.

This time he appears, Stephen can’t find anything. It’s so dark that he has to blink twice just to make sure he’s actually opened his eyes.

There’s a breeze blowing in from somewhere behind him, warm and salty, crashing ocean waves filling up the silence. It’s his second time showing up outside New York, his first time at the Malibu house. As he takes in the moonlight and his eyes begin to adjust, he can see Tony sitting at a bar, tumbler of amber liquid in his hand halfway full. There’s a bottle beside him halfway empty. Stephen walks carefully towards him.

“Well, well, well,” Tony drawls when his eyes land on Stephen. “If it isn’t T.S. Eliot, fresh out of writing Burnt _fucking_ Norton.”

Jesus, Tony smells like a distillery. Stephen takes a seat at the bar beside him, looking at him long and hard.

“ _If all time is eternally present / All time is unredeemable_ ,” he quotes. “You know it doesn’t work like that.” It’s not the right time to be arguing—not even close—but Stephen’s never been good with words.

“Then how the fuck _does_ it work, huh?” Already, Tony’s voice verges on yelling. He’s drunk. And mad. And taking it out on Stephen.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, and Tony takes the glass and throws it at the wall behind the bar, shattering both the tumbler and the mirror hanging up. “Tony—” he tries, but it’s no good.

“I’d be worried about bad luck for the next seven years, but who the fuck cares anymore about that! Bring on the black cats and inconveniently placed ladders, I’ve been damned for years!”

Stephen has no idea what to do or say. He’s not going to belittle him by telling him to take deep breaths, so Stephen decides to just wait till he does it on his own.

Tony picks up the bottle and starts drinking from that. “I’d offer you some liquor, doc, but I kinda want it all for myself. You understand.” He takes a long swig and slams the bottle back on the counter, narrowing his eyes at Stephen. “Say something, dammit.”

“Today’s May 29th, by the way.” He sneers. “Happy _fucking_ birthday to me, right?”

Stephen doesn’t need to be told the year. It’s the only time he’s ever shown up 1992.

Even through his anger, Tony’s voice is wet with tears. “My twenty-second goddamn _sorry_ loop around the sun, and I have to spend it with a man I haven’t seen since before December. A man who could leave at any fucking moment and I may never see again.”

Idly, he notices Tony gripping the edge of the bar, white-knuckled. Stephen slides his hands over them, gently prying Tony’s fingers off and linking them with his own.

It’s Tony’s undoing, apparently.

He gasps, and his upper body nearly collapses onto the bar before Stephen stands and catches his shoulders. He cradles Tony’s head to his chest, and Tony reaches up latches onto Stephen’s arms. Sobs rack his body and Stephen holds him tighter.

“I needed you! I fucking needed you, Stephen!” Tony howls into his chest. “Tell me you know what happened. Tell me I don’t have to tell you.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Stephen says, face tilted into Tony’s hair.

They stay like that for long minutes until Tony stops shaking and drops the taught tension in his body, sinking into Stephen. Tony coughs a few times before speaking. “Turning twenty-one meant nothing to me, since I’d been drinking since I was oh, about thirteen. Dad didn’t see a difference. But Mom… I think Mom just didn’t want me to end up like him.”

Again Stephen has to figure out how to not sound condescending to Tony. _You’re not_ means nothing if Stephen didn’t know Howard. And _They raised a good man_ just isn’t true—not because Tony is not good, but because Stephen is not sure they really raised him.

“Come on,” he says instead, pulling Tony up by the shoulders. He’s barefoot, so Stephen is relieved that the hallway leading to the bedroom is away from where Tony threw the glass.

Tony’s t-shirt feels damp and old, like he’s still wearing his sleep clothes from last night, so Stephen sits Tony down on the bed and rummages through his dresser looking for something clean. Aside from him sitting up, Tony’s entire body is limp as a rag doll.

“Here, put this on,” Stephen says, handing him a shirt. Tony does as he is asked and Stephen tries not to stare at Tony bare-chested, sitting on the bed.

Sympathy fills Stephen’s chest like a balloon when Tony crawls up the bed and under the covers. It’s the only voluntary movement he’s made since he sobbed into Stephen’s chest. Stephen thinks about handing him a toothbrush and a cup of water to get the taste of whisky out of his mouth, but it doesn’t matter that much. Stephen can’t see Tony’s face, because he’s turned on his side facing the other way. When Stephen slips into the bed beside him, Tony hesitates only a second before turning over and pressing himself tight against Stephen, head tucked his chin.

Stephen curls an arm around Tony’s shoulders and can’t help but press a kiss into his hair. Tony pulls him closer, and Stephen feels himself drifting off.

Some time later, Stephen wakes with a jolt.

“You okay?” Tony asks, sounding still half-asleep. Even through his panic, the first thought he has is that he’s happy Tony hadn’t been lying there awake.

“Yeah, I’m…” Stephen trails off, looking for the words. Sometimes he dreams that instead of blacking out during the crash, he’s awake the whole time and has to wait in his car at the bottom of the cliff. He can feel the glass shards embedded in his face, see his blood all over the steering wheel. He can’t move his fingers, but he can painfully move everything else.

“I’m okay.”

Tony raises up on his right elbow to look down at Stephen. There are crease marks on his cheeks from his pillow, but his eyes are open fully and he’s stone-cold sober, Stephen can tell. Tony reaches over and cradles Stephen’s face with his left hand. Stephen knows what’s coming before he even leans down.

Like almost every other time they have done this, Tony’s lips are not soft. A constant throughout the years is that his lips are perpetually chapped, no matter how many times Stephen tells him to buy chapstick. A difference, though, is that Tony doesn’t have a beard. A few times Stephen has shown up in the mid-1990s and been met with a clean-shaven Tony, but it still catches him off guard.

Stephen slides a hand across the back of Tony’s neck and slants his lips to deepen the kiss. He’s about to pull Tony on top of him when he remembers what Tony will tell him in 2001.

_I was in a fucked up place, and you just kind of—it was nice._

Instead, Stephen pushes lightly at Tony’s shoulder, guiding him onto his back.

Tony goes willingly, and Stephen leans over him, never letting their hips touch, never letting the kiss get too deep. Tony tries to raise up and grind against him, but Stephen pulls back.

He presses his forehead to Tony’s, and for a minute they just breathe the same air. “Not while either of us are like this,” he says.

Tony snorts humorlessly, turning his face away. “If you were anyone else I’d have fucked you senseless hours ago.”

“But I’m not anyone else.”

Stephen stares down at him rather seriously, and Tony lifts his face back up, mouth turned up at the corner, just a little. “No, I guess you’re not,” he says, and Stephen kisses him again.

Tony breaks it this time. “We have this again, right?” He sounds almost scared. A fierce possessiveness shoots through Stephen like cold water.

“So many times,” he whispers. Tony reaches up to smooth Stephen’s brow with his thumb.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. “That’s something I’ve always thought.”

Stephen smiles. “As are you. As have I.” There’s a pause, then Stephen tenses up.

“I’m happy I saw you today,” he says, trying so hard not to wince as the pull takes him from all sides.

Tony considers him knowingly. “I am too.” His eyes are sad, but his previous anger has completely drained. He means it; Stephen knows he does.

Tony lifts up and presses one last kiss to the corner of Stephen’s mouth before everything goes black.

 

 

Back on solid ground, Stephen feels his surroundings before he sees them. Bitter cold hits his face, and he gives his body a second to adjust to the intense temperature change before he opens his eyes.

Stephen is standing in some bunker, surrounded by cement and snow. Tony’s lying in a heap a few yards away, and Stephen goes to him immediately.

Tony’s Iron Man suit is shattered, broken parts all around him. There’s a nasty gash on his forehead and Stephen can already pick out three places on his face that’ll probably bruise yellow.

“Before you ask, it’s 2016 and we’re in Siberia,” Tony says. He doesn’t seem to be choking on any fluid ( _yet_ , Stephen’s doctor brain tells him), which is good. “Hell of a time for you to show up.”

Stephen places a hand under Tony’s head, turning his face around gently to check for more injuries. “I’m glad I did. What the hell happened here?”

“The Beatles finally broke up. Apparently Yoko’s got a metal arm and a violent case of amnesia, literally.”

“You’re giving me a real explanation after we get you to a medical facility,” Stephen says, a picture of Metro-General already in his head. Slipping on his sling ring, he keeps one hand behind Tony’s head and uses the other to draw a portal.

Tony is unconscious by the time Stephen pulls him through. Stephen immediately puts him on a gurney and calls for Christine, because he’s nothing if not consistent and consistently unfair.

“Stephen!” Christine says, coming up to the gurney, leading them to an operating room.

“Page Dr. West,” Stephen tells her when they reach the OR. “Two head lacerations that I could see, possibly more on the back of his head. Multiple bruises. I didn’t get a look at his body because of the suit, but he’s definitely been beaten.”

“Stephen, is this Tony Stark?”

Stephen preps for surgery with Christine, but he’s well past thinking he’d be of any use operating. If nothing else he can observe, and pray to whatever higher power that’s been pin-balling him through time and space that he doesn’t have to meet Tony on the astral plane.

“I don’t think he’s wearing the arc reactor”—Stephen can’t even remember if he was wearing it the last time Stephen saw him, or even what the last time Stephen saw him _was_ —“but be careful anyway removing the suit.”

Dr. West enters the OR and pauses. “Is this Tony Stark?”

Stephen sighs long-sufferingly. “Yes, I gave Christine the rundown. You both know to treat him like any other patient or send someone else in to take your goddamn place.”

The surgery takes three hours. Seven broken ribs, a shattered collarbone, and a punctured lung later, Tony’s in a recovery room waiting to wake up.

It’s stupid and irresponsible, because there’s a very good chance the real Stephen Strange of this time period could show up somewhere else in the hospital, but Stephen refuses to leave Tony’s side until he wakes up. Not only that, but he’s been willing the universe since the moment he got here to not force him to leave before he can talk to Tony.

He pulls the armchair to the side of Tony’s bed and doesn’t touch him, but he aches to.

Having some time to think, Stephen realizes the Avengers had issues in 2016 over the Sokovia Accords. As much as he’d always tried to stay away from the news, he hadn’t been able to miss that. Now, he wonders if the dissension between them had been worse than the media could have ever imagined.

Christine knocks on the open door and Stephen looks up at her as she walks in. “Just wanted to check on you,” she says in a soft voice. “He’s going to be okay, you know.”

“Thank you, but I’m fine. And yes, I know.”

She pulls up the doctor’s stool beside him. “Are you gonna tell me why you casually showed up here with _Tony Stark_ , of all people?”

Stephen smiles. For the first time he realizes this is the only time he’s been sloppy enough to meet someone who already knows him at this point in time, and he silently begs Christine not to mention this again.

“I don’t know the whole story, but he needed help, and he’s a friend.”

Christine lets out a short laugh. “Stephen Strange, I didn’t think you had friends.”

“I don’t. Mention this again and I’ll deny it to the death.”

They sit in silence for a while before Christine puts her hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “Whatever’s going on between you two, I hope it makes you happy, Stephen.”

He doesn’t even bother denying it. “It does.”

She gets up and leaves the room, smiling back at him one last time. When Stephen is alone, he reaches up and takes Tony’s hand, lying his head beside Tony on the bed. No matter how much Stephen wants to stay, he never knows when he’s going to be yanked out of this time.

Not too much later, Stephen feels his hands twitching more than usual. He looks up and sees Tony finally coming to, grimacing in pain.

“Jesus, what bus ran me over and did you get the plates?” he says. Stephen releases Tony’s hands and straightens up.

“The tags were Serbian, so I barely had time to translate them.”

Tony smiles, eyes focusing on Stephen. “Well, thanks anyway for saving me.”

“I’ll always save you, Tony,” Stephen says. He thinks, _Fuck anything I’ve said or will say._

Stephen waits a moment before siding a hand once more over Tony’s, lacing their fingers together. He breaks, and suddenly he’s sitting on the side of the bed, his hands cradling Tony’s face, careful of his bruises. Tony has the audacity right then to smirk.

“That’s more like it, doc.”

Stephen wastes no time then in slotting their lips together. He can feel Tony wince in pain, so he pulls back. Tony follows him, not letting Stephen get away so easily, kissing him again. It’s tender and loving and Stephen has so many things he wants to say, but now is not the time. He thinks it may never be the time, but he pushes that out of his mind when Tony licks into his mouth, tongue sliding against tongue.

He’s so caught up in the kiss that Stephen barely registers the pull starting. He closes his eyes tightly, pressing short kisses to Tony’s cheeks, eyelids, forehead before pulling away.

“You’re about to leave again, aren’t you,” Tony says, a flat statement. The pull is taking Stephen slower this time, slower than it has ever taken him before—almost as if the universe is giving them a chance to say goodbye. Stephen presses his forehead to Tony’s and feels a tear track down his cheek.

“I’d do anything to stay.”

Tony tries to wrap his arms around Stephen, but Stephen can tell he’s still weak. Usually Tony’s pretty good at hiding his emotions every time this happens, but something about right now seems more serious. “Fuck, Stephen, don’t leave—not now, not…”

“I’ll find you,” he says.

They both know it’s true. All of his roads lead back—have led back—to Tony. It’s inevitable, has been inevitable for a long time. The universe has married them together over and over again, and if Stephen didn’t believe in fate before, now he has no choice.

 _I’ll always save you_ , he told Tony. And he meant it.

“Come back,” he hears Tony say, but it sounds like he’s on the other end of a tunnel. “Come back, come back, come ba—”

Stephen closes his eyes and waits to begin again.

 

 

As soon as Stephen reappears on Titan, he notices two things: Titan is the same unforgiving wasteland as it was before he was hurtled through time, and his cloak is missing.

Without even a pause, Stephen’s eyes scan for Tony. He sees everyone huddled around a rock, and immediately Stephen knows.

“Tony!” he says, and he shoves Spacelord (or whatever the hell his name is) out of the way so Stephen can get to him.

“What happened?” he asks, kneeling at Tony’s side. Tony is spread out on the cloak, which seems content for now to be the equivalent of a sentient picnic blanket.

Tony just looks winded, not injured, so the alarms in Stephen’s head quiet. Still obviously trying to catch his breath, Tony just still stays on the ground.

“Mr. Doctor Strange, sir,” he hears. The others have moved back from around Tony but the kid remained, crouching now beside Stephen. “It was really weird—when you disappeared, Mr. Stark passed out and wouldn’t wake up, like he was breathing but didn’t respond to anything. The cloak caught him though, which was good.” The kid’s speaking so fast Stephen catches about every other word, but he thinks he understands. “This is the first time he’s moved, so maybe he’s waking up now?”

Stephen doesn’t answer. “How long has he been out?”

“Maybe five minutes? I don’t know, it wasn’t very long, but it kinda feels long when you’re looking at someone who’s passed out and—”

Tony coughs, now more alert. Stephen pulls back from where he were hovering over him, but the kid’s still leaning in close. “I’m fine, Peter,” Tony says, still groggy. “Needed some beauty sleep anyway.”

Tony sits up but remains halfway on the cloak, so the rest of it lifts up to wrap around Tony’s waist. It’s a surreal experience to see the cloak, usually so aloof, take to another person like this.

The thought makes his chest tighten. Stephen backs away just a little bit, just far enough. He’s not sure how much Tony knows, but he’s willing to bet he knows more now than he did five minutes ago.

“Not that I’d call that refreshing,” Tony says. “A little emotionally exhausting, if you ask me.” For the first time, his eyes lock with Stephen’s the same way they did before Stephen was thrust back in time.

“Tony—” he starts, then breaks off.

Tony looks beyond Stephen and grimaces. “Quill’s up there waving his hands around again, no doubt making another shit plan to get the gauntlet. Pete, go make sure he’s not about to do something stupid like bring out an iPod and play ‘80s music.”

Peter stands up. “Okay, Mr. Stark,“ he says. “And by the way, I’m glad you’re all right.” Tony looks at him with a soft smile, and Stephen’s heart feels folded in half.

“What happened, Tony?” Stephen asks when everyone else is out of earshot.

Tony presses the heels of his palms over his eyes. “Hell if I know, doc—you’re the magical one here.” He sighs. “You left and I just, like… completely blacked out. Then I started remembering all these moments that you were there, then not there, then there again. It was like all these memories and feelings were just pulled to the surface.” He drops his hands. “A bunch of ‘what the fuck does this mean and how the fuck do I figure it out’ is what happened.”

Guilt swoops through Stephen’s stomach like a seagull. “Tony, I—”

“I know, okay? I know,” Tony says, eyes on Stephen. “I just—My brain just basically rewrote 39 whole years. How does that even work? Isn’t remembering shit like that supposed to put me in a mental institution?”

“When did you forget everything?”

“A couple days before I met you, I think. You hadn’t shown up in, god, since Siberia. I guess there’s been enough going on that I didn’t have time to feel like a huge chunk of my history was missing. Now I know though, like—it’s like you were always there, even when you weren’t.” He pauses. “How long was it for you?”

“It’s hard to tell because I jumped around so much but… a year total? It wasn’t often that I stayed for very long.”

“Tell me about it,” Tony says, and Stephen remembers all the times he showed up when Tony had thought him gone for good. “The first time I met you I was five, but I was eleven when I really understood what was going on.” He laughed humorlessly. “You showed up one day right after I’d gotten out of school. I was remaking some engine I’d built a few years before, and I remember being so excited to show you. God, after that—I was never not waiting for you.”

It’s not his fault, but it hurts Stephen anyway to think how his sporadic appearances affected Tony over such a long period of time.

“You know, I saw you disappear right before I passed out,” Tony says with a laugh. “That was some kinda exit, Chris Angel. Gold smoke and everything, then _poof_.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever gone out in gold before,” he says. “Seems a little kitsch.”

Tony smiles. “Maybe. But wouldn’t you know, it’s my favorite color.”

Stephen chuckles and hangs his head. Tony reaches out and wraps his hands around Stephen’s, tangling their fingers. Stephen stares at that for a second: Tony’s dark, calloused hands against Stephen’s, trembling.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do, Tony.”

Tony tightens his grip on Stephen’s hands, running his thumb across Stephen’s wrist. “We’re gonna figure it out. First we’re gonna take down that reject Sun-Maid raisin bastard, then we’re gonna get off this goddamn planet and back to the goddamn earth. Then we’re gonna figure it out.”

When Stephen doesn’t reply, Tony tries again. “You want to figure it out, right?”

God, yes. But Tony is _engaged_ and Stephen is bad at these kinds of things, and no one deserves to trade such a compassionate and headstrong woman for a man like him.

“I was just with you,” he says in lieu of an answer. “Not even ten minutes ago. I was just with you.”

“I know,” Tony says, but Stephen wonders, _Do you really?_

Apparently he’d spoken that out loud, because Tony scoffs. “Yeah, I _do really_. Can’t remember feeling things without, you know, _feeling_ them.”

“Not like this,” Stephen all but whispers.

“Yes like this! You think all those memories can literally knock me unconscious and not affect the way I feel right now? I _know you_ , Stephen. I’ve known you. I just… didn’t know that I knew.”

Stephen closes his eyes against Tony’s words. His heart’s not even in his chest anymore; he thinks it might have taken up permanent residence in his gut. Words are bursting inside of him. “I swear, if you keep talking I’m going to say it.”

Tony blinks at him. “And?”

“It’s not fair of me to say it.”

“To whom?”

“Either of us.”

This time Tony doesn’t blink. “Say it.”

“You don’t want that.”

“Say it, goddammit.”

“Tony—”

“ _Say it._ ”

“I love you,” Stephen blurts out in a rush. Tony immediately softens. “Fuck, Tony, I—I’m in love with you. You’re the love of my life, every life. It’s always you. I never told you that, did I?”

Tony shakes his head vigorously. “You didn’t have to. I never told—”

“You didn’t have to, either.”

 

 

Later, when Thanos impales Tony with his own weapon, Stephen’s heart nearly stops. He thinks about what happened in that one future timeline so they could win. He thinks about what is the correct way, the only way. He thinks about what must be done.

But more vividly, he thinks about a little boy with a mason jar, running through a wood filled with crickets. He thinks about coffee with a little cream and fried eggs. He thinks about floor-to-ceiling windows, the New York City skyline, and bare feet propped up on a table.

He thinks about a man in bed beside him, reaching across the night stand to turn off the light. The lamp clicks and he rolls over, curling up close. “We made it,” he says.

Stephen thinks about saying back, “Yes, we did.”


End file.
